Castaño Santo
Reflections on a December walk to the Holy Chestnut Tree
on the old San Pedro Road, Andalucia
by I Brooks
Watch the sun come up above those rocky crags,
And kiss the pine cones
Lie abandoned strewn across the path,
Hidden by lush grasses and broken bark.
Hear the bee, the fly, the lark,
Allow your soul to rise and shake
Off the fears of yesternight.
Hold your heart tight.
Feel safe and
Breathe beneath those crooked bows.
And know that you are loved and cradled still
Amongst this bounty which we fail to see.
These days invaded,
By walls and news and views,
Imbibed by rampant and ferocious information
And technology,
Hunting fervently
For that which appears before me now,
So solemnly.
Inga Brooks is Jane of all trades. Essex girl lives in Marbella, overlooking Africa. Traveller, student, adventurer and writer.
